A CASE OF MISTAKEN INDENTITY ON AN OFFICIAL VISIT TO YUGOSLAVIA IN 1959

by L.C. Arulpragasam

I was a sick man when I reported for work relating to the implementation of the Paddy Lands Act of 1958. I had pleurisy of the lungs due to my work with fever during the Batticaloa floods of 1957. The Minister of Agriculture (Mr. Philip Gunawardena) hearing of my plight, sent me on an official study visit to Israel and Yugoslavia. I had to be cleared by a Medical Board before I could go abroad. Fortunately, I personally knew all three doctors on the Board. One of them laughingly said: “If we don’t send this fellow abroad, he will die on our hands: it is better if he dies abroad!” Dr. John Wilson gave me a course of antibiotics, warning me that I should see a doctor as soon as I reached my destination.

President Tito had visited Ceylon in early 1959, where he was lionized as a pillar of the Non-Alligned Movement. He was shown in photos at Pasyala with the cadju girls, on his way to Kandy. This was probably his first visit to a tropical country – and it received overwhelming publicity among the people in Yugoslavia. My official visit to Yugoslavia happened soon after.

When I arrived in Beograd (Yugoslavia), there was no official to meet me at the airport. Since this was my first official trip abroad, I did not know what to do. My suitcase had been off-loaded, sitting lonely on the tarmac. So I sat on my suitcase, just as I had done as schoolboy, waiting for the Royal College Boarding ‘bus! In the mean time, I had noticed a black African being met by important officials together with a gaggle of reporters, taking him to the VIP Lounge. There they discovered that they had the ‘wrong number’ (they had been interviewing the wrong man) and ran across the empty tarmac to me, sitting lonely on my suitcase.

They then escorted me with pomp and ceremony to the VIP Room for a photo op and interview. I said that I had come to study their agriculture, agrarian structure and cooperative farms. The next morning, my picture was splashed on the front page of the main newspapers: it read, “The Minister of Agriculture of Ceylon has come to Yugoslavia to buy sheep and goats!” I was 31 years old at that time, in the CCS, but only a Deputy Commissioner of Agrarian Services! I definitely was not the Minister of Agriculture! I laughed the whole thing off, thinking that it was only a genuine mistake. I had not come there to buy sheep and goats!

That was the beginning of an improbable but impressive journey! My first meeting was with the Minister or Commissar of Agriculture and his cohorts. It was conducted in Serbo-Croat: so when I asked a question, it had to be translated into Serbo-Croat and back again into English. While this was going on, every time that I caught an official’s eye (which was often), he would stand up and offer me a toast with slivovitz (plum brandy). They would then all stand up, look smilingly at me and quaff the brandy in one gulp. I got used to doing the same! This would continue with many toasts till I was whisked off to the next meeting – and the next meeting, and another, interspersed with shots of slivovitz until both the hosts and I were quite tipsy.

This was followed by a sumptuous lunch of five courses accompanied by different wines for different courses, all laid out with an impressive array of wine glasses, cutlery and napery to match. This routine was followed the next day and the next. Although this was my first official trip overseas, it did not take me long to realize that these grand receptions were the only occasions where my hosts (all officials) could get free booze and lavish meals – using me as an excuse!

On some evenings, I was taken to a ballet or an opera – of which I had read of only in books. I was escorted by students, hired cheaply, who could speak only French or German – but not English. I could understand very little: for even the programmes were in Serbo-Croat.

One evening, while walking to a park round the corner, I saw large posters of Satchmo (Louis Armstrong) who was going to give a concert in Belgrade. I also noticed a bunch of urchins about 7-11 years of age, who were disputing in whispers whether I could be Satchmo, as my skin colour confirmed their suspicions! Looking straight ahead, proudly pointing to my chest, I proclaimed loudly “Me, Satchmo”. That excited the band of urchins, who followed me in awe to my hotel, crowding at the large display glass windows – I still remember their hot breaths frosting the glass – till the security guards chased them away.

The next day when I ventured out, the urchins having learned the truth, lined up to hoot me. When I laughed to signify that it was all a joke to fool them, they jumped all over me, one at my waist, one on my arm and one on my back till I arrived at the park, laden with small children. They were excitedly pulling me in all directions, wanting me to come to their homes. I guessed that they had never seen a dark man before.

The young girl who quieted them managed to speak some English. Some days later, she wanted to come to my hotel room! Whereas no girl would look at me in Ceylon, I found that the girls, attracted no doubt by my dark skin, were making physical advances to me. In Central Europe after the War, a dark man was a rarity; besides, the country had lost many of their men in WWII against the Nazis.

After my meetings in Belgrade, I was flown to the capitals of each of the six constituent states/ republics. I was met at the airport by the Ministers of Agriculture of those republics/states – which should have aroused my suspicions. Here was I, a lowly state functionary of Ceylon, being entertained by the Minister of Agriculture of Yugoslavia and met at the airport by the Ministers of Agriculture of each of the republics/states. Since this was the first time that I was on an official visit, it never occurred to me that this was quite disproportionate, diplomatically speaking. At the state/republic level too, I was entertained in the same way: meetings specifically to brief me, enlivened by shots of slivovitz, followed by lavish lunches with more wine and more inebriation.

I was also taken to the countryside by my guide and mentor. He was a polished guy with a PhD from France, who spoke English, French and German. He smoked through a gold-tipped cigarette-holder and drove in a Mercedez-Benz with a driver. He was a theoretical Marxist and a confirmed state socialist. Having read Marx and Hegel myself, I was able to dispute his Communist beliefs; he was surprised that I could match his knowledge of Marxism and of world history! One day, in one of the states, he took me to a collective farm. The land had belonged to a Prince and had been taken over by the state of Yugoslavia to be run as a collective farm. I spent time talking to the farmers. I learned that they were still farming with oxen, cultivating about 1 hectare each. In the evening, my mentor waxed eloquent about the economies of scale in their collective farms. “What economies of scale”, I snorted, “when each farmer is actually managing and operating only 1 hectare!” True, Yugoslavia at that time could not afford mechanization, but to distort the facts in order to satisfy Marxist theory was too much!

Another interesting event happened to me. At the collective farm, an old white haired woman approached me: she stroked my face lovingly, saying repeatedly, “My son, my son”. Someone explained to me that she had lost her son, who had never returned from the war. I was amazed at her lack of colour-consciousness: was it due to the lack of colour consciousness in Yugoslavia at that time? Was it due to the socialist ethos, or was it due to the lack of coloured people in Central Europe in those days?

That night, my guide/minder excused himself saying that he would like to meet some friends. He wondered whether I would mind eating alone in the collective cafeteria. When I went down to the dining area, I found that it was filled with women and girls. There were hardly any men left due to their deaths in World War II. The lone coloured man (he was from Egypt) invited me to his table. Sitting at his table were about five or six girls. After the introductions, his opening words were: “Brother, I cannot manage any more, can you please take over from me?” – meaning the girls!

I replied lamely that I was there only for that night. Shortly after that, two of the girls took me by the hand insisting that I should come to their home, which was only a short distance away. They were mother and daughter – and extremely beautiful, with the high cheekbones of the Slavic race. I could hardly make out who was the mother and who the daughter: they both looked so young! The daughter was a medical student, who spoke good English. They insisted on taking me to their home, clinging on to me physically, while walking down a dark lane. At one point, fearing the worst, I dug in my heels, so that they had to drag my dead weight. I refused to go any farther, since their intentions had become clearer! Making lame apologies, I disentangled myself and ignominiously fled to the well-lit cafeteria!

I was flown to the capitals of most republics of Yugoslavia – to Zagreb, Ljubljana, Skopje, etc. When going to the field in one of the republics, I chatted with a high official in the car. He wished to ask me a personal question and when I agreed, he asked me: “How did you become Minister of Agriculture of your country when you are so young?” I exploded: “I am not the Minister of Agriculture” – which must have taken him by surprise. It is only then that I realized the charade that the Yugoslav Government was playing. It all fell into place now! There had been no high-level reciprocation of President Tito’s visit. So they had concocted a story that I was the Minister of Agriculture of Ceylon, being sent there to reciprocate President Tito’s widely advertised journey to our country! I had been blissfully unaware of this charade – which was being carried out at my expense.

For some years, I had thought that it was due to a genuine mistake: their head of the Agriculture Ministry was probably called a “Commissar” – which could easily be mistaken for “Commissioner”: but I was only a Deputy Commissioner. After some time, I became convinced that the deceit was deliberate. To put the best face on it, I reasoned that the Yugoslav state was entitled to deceive its own officials and people – although I had been used as an unwitting pawn!

In retrospect, I had not really paid any price at all for this extravaganza – which had not really been “at my expense”. In fact, I had lapped it all up: the perks, the ballet, the flights to different parts of the country, the visits to the different types of farms, the lavish lunches – and the slivovitz! I had in fact enjoyed being the “Minister of Agriculture” – if only for three weeks!

(The writer was a member of the former Ceylon Civil Service who took early retirement and had a long career with FAO in Rome)